


midnight fires (13th of lee, the first)

by iridesense



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Minor Violence, Mystery???, Witches, there's rituals and stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22542028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridesense/pseuds/iridesense
Summary: “Mark was soaked in glory and was taking everything, everything that Donghyuck had cherished and cherished him back.”When his brother goes missing, Donghyuck has to get help from the one person he's hated since childhood, Mark Lee. What he finds is that, soon or later, karma always comes knocking.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 9
Kudos: 60





	1. the keenest witch on this side of the hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for giving this a chance!! here is the playlist for spooky moods [#midnight fires](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3GlbyDwq0uuq5bvWhS2u4Q?si=Q7-4fCluQe6LJHIdSnyLkA)

When Donghyuck woke up that day, it was with a terrible aching down his spine and in his chest. 

Sitting up from his bed, his room tilted, the shiny wooden floors creaked in silence, the pale cream walls curled in, and Donghyuck’s hands spouted with magic. It was not a tingling like usual mornings, but rather like an overspilling teacup, magic pouring and spitting and gushing over in rivers. 

Donghyuck stretched his arms to the high ceilings. Magic flowed all over him like natural morning dew into condensation. He clenched his fingers in and unfurled them as if he could crack the magic away with his stiff knuckles. It ebbed away at the overpour, magic drizzling onto the ground and anywhere the air would carry it. But it did little to quell the anxiety inside him. 

Something was amiss. 

He brushed the feeling off. It was a recurring habit of the fates, quite a nasty habit actually, for something dreadful always seemed to follow him. A veil of sheer black, dotted with tiny spots of shine, followed Donghyuck’s shadow as he rose from bed to wash up.

Padding into the kitchen, Donghyuck sleepily put a kettle on the stove. He faced the stark green towel hung on his towel rack, and it blinked back at him in the cream tiles on the walls. Strange. Donghyuck’s eyes trailed down his now spotless kitchen counter, noticeably neat and clean. Now, Donghyuck was waking up.

The wet towel Donghyuck had previously slapped onto the marble counter yesterday was hung up on the towel rack, something Donghyuck never did. He made a quick turn to the fridge, opening it to see it full of groceries and premade meals.

_Doyoung._

His temple started to throb with annoyance. He couldn’t recall the last he saw Doyoung’s face or received Doyoung’s curly, round writing. The second ever elusive presence roaming about in his house. Donghyuck made a note to send Doyoung a strongly worded note about leaving him be to take care of himself. It’s not like his brother didn’t send housekeepers to maintain the estate during the week.

In his next order of routine, his right hand reached out to wall nearest to the outside where the mail house was. Lifting the lid, he felt disappointment wash through him. It was empty.

Donghyuck scowled as he poured his tea. He took his time to simmer in his growing annoyance as he lifted and dipped the tea bag string wrapped around his index finger. 

Why was he still waiting for mail?

Tenseness drenched the aura in the kitchen and the shadows casted by morning light seemed to grow its own life, dancing and flickering between feeble and dreadful. Donghyuck looked out the window, watching the fog roll across the neighboring hilltops and under them, the wonderful magic among the wilderness and concrete jungles, out and about hidden from the unseeing. 

From the corner of his window, a decently-sized raven perched on the branch of a tree. It blinked at him with its beady eyes, completely silent all the while. Donghyuck had the thought that this raven would not crow as expected if it were to speak, in fact, if it were to open its beak, a loud cackle would ring through the woods. The raven never broke eye contact with him.

Suddenly, his skin seared with white pain and Donghyuck hissed as he looked at where his reddening fingers brushed the hot glass cup.

Donghyuck moved to the sink to hold his fingers under cold water. When he looked back up to the window, the raven was gone. Not even the ghost of fluttering was left. Donghyuck could feel the magic in him flicker. Donghyuck wasn’t as gifted in prophecy as Ten was, but he had better sense than the average witch. He wondered if he had forgotten something.

Outside a manor on top of the Hills, among the rolling fog, a raven shook its feathers off and emerged into the shape of a man.

*

In the middle of downtown, in a small city that was more used to being a village, there was a short, box concrete building where only old women entered to gather and drink hot coffee and gossip over hot biscuits. A side door was in the corner of this building right where the two walls met, and if the unseeing looked, really _looked,_ with the corner of their eye, then maybe they’d even be able to look twice to see it appear, and maybe then—but by that time, the door would be gone.

Donghyuck walked past the hunched ladies gossiping over their hot coffee and hot biscuits and slipped into the door in the corner that no one else saw. Inside was the Church.

The Church was a detestable building where despite the bustle of people, the ceilings were so tall that sound carried up and seemed to never reached an end. The floor was polished so clean, your face would reflect off the tiles. The inside was an endless long road, where if you had walked straight down the hallway, you could also end up on the third floor. It carried the stench of bureaucracy. 

Witches here liked their gossip like they liked their alcohol: with abandon, bitter, and _one more please_. Everywhere he went, Donghyuck’s face was too well-known. Witches in their long coats and glittering crystals, forked tongues and ugly giggles behind his back as he walked up the hall.

_“What a face, look how angry and ugly. Not darling like any child at all.”_

_“Watch how the black follows behind him. How wretched.”_

Donghyuck smacked the thick folder onto Kun’s desk accompanying a silent sigh.

_“Don’t stand so close to him. The black might be contagious.”_

Kun smiled politely to the three witches in front of him, collecting their paperwork. “Thank you, ladies.”

The witches avoided his eyes, his blatant stare, as there were three of them and there was nothing but vast floor—but the Long Hall could be so narrow if unluck wished it. So one witch, the one closest to him who was told not to stand too close, brushed shoulders with him. Donghyuck let his fingers ghost against the ends of her waist-long hair. He lifted his lips into a smile, teeth tucked away. The witch shivered as they met eyes and hurried to join her friends.

There was only so much a witch could do in such a short time, Donghyuck thought as he peeled off his left glove. But with a hair plucked unwillingly—still so much. He pinched the strand of dark hair in between both hands, watching it pulled taut like a thin rubber band, and asked the shadows inside him to be a friend.

Behind him, a squeal erupted and lost itself to the ceiling. _“Her bones are freezing over!”_ one of them screeched. _“What is happening! ”_ And then, another witch clearly screamed at him, _“What did you do!?”_

Donghyuck turned his head, barely an inch to the shoulder, and replied with innocence, “I merely stood here. Perhaps your friend caught a bad cold.” And with great enthusiasm, he cooed at them, “Should’ve been more careful.”

_“Release us, magic eater!”_

Donghyuck took a sharp inhale, and Kun laid one hand on the counter next to Donghyuck’s gloved one. Kun peered over his desk, sighing like it was a great chore, and plucked the strand of hair from Donghyuck’s fingers. The poor thing incinerated at instant touch.

The witches abruptly shot up and Kun leveled a stare over Donghyuck’s shoulder. “No commotions allowed in the Long Hall.”

Donghyuck heard grumbling and then the slamming of a door.

Kun slicked back his hair, looking not any part ruffled, and gave the younger a stern look. “No commotions in the Long Hall,” he repeated. “If you weren’t a child of a Godhead, Donghyuck...” he trailed off saying, but then collected three stacks of paperwork and slipped them off his desk, _plop,_ and into the trash, “but they really shouldn’t have called you that.” 

Kun pulled his lips back into his designated smile. “Now what can I do for you?”

Donghyuck grinned and slipped his left glove back on. “This is why you’re the only witch I like in here.” He pushed his report folder over into Kun’s hands. 

“And I do enjoy your occasional visits. Your face is much more welcome than Irene’s. She can be rather.. unagreeable.”

Donghyuck hummed. “Unfortunately, Cousin Irene’s face is fixed like that.”

Cousin Irene, his official warden, would usually help Donghyuck fill out the paperwork or jump through the loops of bureaucracy. Until Irene had looked down at him, blue eyes like sliding ice, and handed his papers back to him, only saying, “Little witch, I recall you were the finalist of your batch,” telling him to handle it himself. Donghyuck sniffed back and thought: _How spiteful. I was second._

That was all she needed to say. Afterall, Irene did not coddle. Rather, she did not know how to. She was no Johnny, no Taeil. And those from his mother’s side were keen on teaching mercy over kindness. There were times though, where she would pat Donghyuck softly on the head as if she was brushing through the fur of her small pet cat.

In between Donghyuck’s joke and Kun’s echoing laugh, Kun’s expression softened as his eyes flitted behind Donghyuck’s shoulder. Footsteps grew clearer and Donghyuck’s face blackened as the two witches, Jaemin and Jeno, neared them. 

It became quiet in the front of the department, only the clacking against footsteps and background chatter from open doors as Jaemin stopped at the corner of the reception and handed over his file delicately. There was distance between the two of them—an unspoken barrier. The air was icy as it always was when the two met by coincidence and never if they could avoid it. Donghyuck kept his eyes trained on his fist on the black tabletop.

“Sorry for the late papers. Jeno didn’t know he filed them wrong,” Jaemin said calmly and just above a breath.

Kun’s voice was toasty warm, “It’s okay.”

Their feet angled towards each other yet their heads refused to turn to each other. But Donghyuck could still see Jaemin from a peripheral view. Tingles followed Jaemin’s gaze where it swept over Donghyuck’s gloved hands on the counter. He could remember when that gaze was warm, how the ends of eyes curled when he smiled.

“Thanks,” syllables rushed out of Jaemin’s mouth, “have a good day, Kun hyung.” He took another look at Donghyuck, a slow stepped hesitance that had Donghyuck white-knuckled and holding his breath. 

He can still hear his shouts ringing in his ears, ugly words full of poison.

Jaemin took a sharp left to the exit, not one look back.

Behind him, his companion was slower. Jeno stopped full and feet planted surely on the ground. The boy whose smile made plants sprout from sidewalk cracks. Donghyuck was envious. Jeno gave him a small, wary smile. “Bye, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck’s neck flushed hot with anger. He didn’t want Jeno’s sad, pity smile. So with gritted teeth, he muttered back, “Goodbye, Jeno,” without much manner.

The heavy department doors clicked behind them and Donghyuck found himself exhaling.

“Poor things,” Kun broke into the silence. “They must be so tired. I heard Jaemin took on a plea to break some witch’s curse and went on a goose chase all over Korea. The unseeing are one thing, curses on witches are especially difficult and long processes. Good money comes at a price. In this case, it seems the price is near death.”

Donghyuck’s temple twitched at the words _near death_. He recalled how Jaemin had looked coming up to the counter, the grey shadow under his eyes, face drained of its usual pallor, drained of magic.

“There’s no need to worry, Donghyuck. Jeno is one of the best witches of your batch. You know he’s studying under Doyoung.”

Donghyuck scoffed and scuffed his shoes on the floor. Cousin Doyoung would never pass up an opportunity to compliment and brag about his little protege. You’d think the man had grown a big head.

Kun reached out and patted Donghyuck’s now uncurled hand. “He’ll take care of Jaemin.”

Donghyuck refrained a wince. Somewhere out there, the tales of two amicable friends become enemies circled from witches mouths like old wives’ tales. But few knew the real story to hold impartial words for both of them.

When Kun took back his hand, it uncovered the brooch pinned on his chest. A blood-red diamond in the eye of a raven made of silver. Donghyuck thought back to the beady eyes by the window, just staring at him.

“Hey,” Donghyuck piped up, “are there any updates from Tokyo?”

“Tokyo? We don’t—” For a second, Kun seemed lost and then his eyes had a stroke of recognition. He brought his chin up and his hands folded neatly on top of the papers, “—have news of yet.” Then, “Don’t you have a contest to win?”

Donghyuck bit back the sour twist of his lips. “Yes, I do.”

“Big day. Don’t let small trivialities hold you back.”

Donghyuck peered into Kun’s slitted eyes, always crispy clear and devilishly knowing. Kun was clever as many in his brother’s batch was. His words were always warm and accepting in a way Donghyuck could never reciprocate. But there were so many secrets held within those tightly shut lips as every type of witch walked these halls.

“I won’t,” said Donghyuck curtly.

Kun nodded behind him. “And I’m sure that’s Taeil over there waiting for you.” 

Donghyuck turned to see that it was indeed Taeil standing at the other end, pacing between the doorway of two hallways. Mark stood a few steps behind him. He grimaced and started to walk towards him.

“Donghyuck,” Kun called, and waited only after a moment when Donghyuck angled towards him, “just keep in mind,” and with an eerily blank face, he said, “not everything you see is what it seems.”

Donghyuck blinked back and thought: _Well, of course, not everything is what it seems. I’m a witch! Shouldn’t I know what I’m seeing?_

But Kun had always been sparse with his words, and of all things within the past weeks, he thought that Kun and his blood-red raven was more than what met the eye.

So Donghyuck nodded once and left.

*

Wax dripped onto the granite candle holders, quivering into a small flame. Donghyuck felt the magic running through his dagger like fast currents, delivering a swipe—the audience held their breath—Mark ducked at the last second, and the flames rose high again.

The wind blew despite that the ritual chamber’s windows were closed. No sun, no moon, just Mark and Donghyuck inside the glow of the candles. Donghyuck and Mark’s fights were said to be beautiful to witness. That is why witches from all batches gathered wall to wall where they could squeeze, spilling into adjacent rooms and into the hallways. _Who would the gods listen to this year?_ they wanted to know.

Their duels were not simply fights. They were wars.

Donghyuck felt the shadows tickling his feet, giggling. The candles flickered, darkness consuming them for a very long second until they reignited—and Donghyuck briefly shut his eyes, cursing for losing control. Spectators clung to each other, eyeing warily at the shadows they couldn’t see moving but their _sense_ told them was wrong.

Witches watched in silence as Donghyuck danced, shrouded completely by the shadows under the candlelight. The shadows laughed like children’s snickers and mocked him as they frolicked in waves, pulsating under the crooks and crannies of the walls. They giggled even if no one else could hear them. 

He could feel the eyes of the judges, sitting in the farthest end of room. Taeil sat on the left cushion reserved for Mark’s warden. The cushion on the right was empty. Irene wasn’t here, even though Donghyuck desperately wished for her to come back from her trip. Something else was more important she said.

“Donghyuck,” Mark’s breath tickled his cheek as metal clashed, “eyes on me.” Mark’s thick, curved blade scraped against Donghyuck’s clean, needle-like dagger.

Mark was different than him. He, on the other hand, was glowing under the candlelight. No shadows in sight. He was saintly in the eyes of the ritual. It was like a sign saying the heavens favored him. Witches watching were enamored with every step of his foot.

He wondered which god was Mark praying to as he jabbed his right arm out to sink the knife right into him—if he was praying at all. _What does his god ask of him?_ Mark’s back arched, knees bashing with Donghyuck’s as he dodged a swipe at his face.

Donghyuck was at his keenest, twenty this year, and he would not lose. If he won this duel, he would be godsign for the upcoming festival and act as the bringer of gods’ blessings and provide protection to all witches. A witch only had a few chances to be godsign: after you’ve passed the entirety of your Templist lessons and before you lose your warden. This was his last year with Irene and his last chance.

Donghyuck has only won against Mark once since he was seventeen.

They moved in unison, attacking and counter attacking in perfect synchrony, never moving more than five feet away. Blades repeatedly collided as their legs pressed up against each other, swaying to the left, swaying to the right—action and reaction.

Wind was picking up in the room. Not carried from the outside but from inside, the whisper of gods.

 _Give me fire,_ one said whipping past his ear, one not meant for him.

Mark swung his knife, teeth clenching. Donghyuck casted the side of his blade into it, darkness streaking upwards. The smell of scorched earth burst from the impact.

 _Take,_ another voice said, jagged and harsh.

Donghyuck brought his wrist up with the hilt of his dagger, cutting into Mark at the center of his chest. Blood didn’t pour out, but Donghyuck’s magic seeped in. It was the only kind of wound a witch could make on another witch. Half the candles blew out. Mark gasped, but he did not kneel. Stale air rose in the circle. Hunger dripped from Donghyuck’s fingertips, wanting, starving.

I can’t, Donghyuck thought, as the shadows began their dancing. _T_ _ake!_ it growled louder.

Mark’s legs pressed into his, elbows digging into ribs. His magic, sunbeam and morning dew, dipped into the hazy shadows. Donghyuck’s magic was ravenous.

No, Donghyuck whispered, as the phantoms laughed in a chorus and the room temperature dropped—because of him, his doing. The air resembled the aftermath of a burning house in winter. Uneasiness swept across the room. _TAKE! TAKE! TAKE TAKE TAKE TAKE!_

Donghyuck’s dagger dipped into Mark’s magic, light and airy, ripping across it, hungry hungry hungry. Donghyuck couldn't hold back how be reacted, he had no choice but to _win_. Donghyuck’s god was always wanting.

The remaining candles flickered until they all extinguished, one after another, until one candle was still burning, dim, but alive.

But Mark was the sun and his flares sewed up the wounds Donghyuck made. It was telling him, look Mark is stronger, better, faster. His flares spreaded upwards like gas, climbing over Donghyuck’s dagger and burning the handle. He felt Mark’s knife brushing up his knee, slicing fire into his stomach. It registered as LOSS in his brain even before he knew it. 

Mark twisted the blade, eyes closing, _praying,_ as his magic snared around Donghyuck.

Mark’s magic was usually warm, nice, but whenever another witch’s magic cut into yours with their blade, it turned into poison. It turned into boiling poison against Donghyuck’s magic. Donghyuck felt all the little places Mark had cut him in, his biceps, his knees, the fire stabbed into his stomach, taking its toll on him and there was no prayer that could reverse this wound. Donghyuck’s breath was choked out of him, knees locked, as he fell to the floor with a loud thump.

There was a gasp amongst the crowd, soft but audible in the sea of silence.

Mark’s blade dug itself next to his head as he kneeled over him and delivered his final blow with a ragged breath, “Match,” he said.

And like that, the last candle went out.

A judge nodded and gestured to open the blinds. Light filled the room. The audience began murmuring.

There were no gods here, no blessings, or prayers left. He lost.

Slowly, Donghyuck’s blood started to simmer. The heat of embarrassment flushed from the center of chest as it sank itself in between his ribs and his lungs. He could barely stand until gradually, the feeling of the ritual left and Donghyuck finally rolled onto his back.

Mark’s face was innocent as he blinked down at him, ultramarine irises reflecting the sunlight just like the sapphire gems dangling across Mark's torso. 

Donghyuck could feel the black pulsing from his fingers, a haze sweeping towards the shadows of people and of every corner in the chamber, taking a hold of them and slinking in remaining light like a veil of snakes. Some witches got up abruptly, some small ones stepped back from cracks on the floor, away from the corners where shadows lingered, and tiptoed into spots where shadows didn’t pervade.

“Bastard,” he spat.

Mark’s face twisted.

_Perfect. Just like that._

Donghyuck darted up and marched off the platform. The swarm of the spectators scrambled in the hallway, scrambling for the light, climbing over into each other’s laps and tripping over legs.

He could hear Taeil from behind him yelling his name. The groans of several witches littered about.

But the wind was howling and the trees and its branches crowed at him. The vines and the shadow children crying and jeering buzzing in his ears. His strides turned to a jog, into a run, until he was out of the hallways and he reached the courtyard corridors.

It was his last chance to prove himself and he lost.

Donghyuck wrenched his silver chain clips from his shoulder and ripped the chains from his belt, sending a kaleidoscope of crystals sprawling against the glossy wooden floor. He stared at the small gems clinging to the steel chain, an emerald nightingale pin pathetically staring back up at him, perfectly intact and shining up in their beautiful glory.

His uncle’s voice saying TWELVE GODHEADS IN YOUR BLOOD, HOUSE OF LEE. SHOW THEM. SHOW THEM.

And you lost, Lee Donghyuck.

A hand pulled at his shoulder. Taeil was saying something. “...alright. It’s okay, Donghyuck.” He pressed his firm fingers against the slopes of Donghyuck’s collarbone, pressed his whole palm against Donghyuck’s chest, as if to press his _alright_ into Donghyuck.

Donghyuck doesn’t want alright. He met Taeil’s eyes, warm browns shaking at the sight of his face, darting around him, at his hands. Donghyuck looked down. His hands were trembling, lines of black pouring from his fingertips slithering on the floor. It was bleeding out, his magic.

Was the wind still howling? Or was that people screaming?

“Donghyuck, you’re okay. It’s okay.” Taeil kept his palm pressed on him.

“It’s not okay!” he snapped, jerking his whole body from Taeil’s touch. If it was okay, he wouldn't be out of control like this.

He saw Taeil’s arm freeze and wondered why Moon Taeil was born so gifted for a lower witch. He was too kind for the likes of Donghyuck, a child born of bad luck.

The floor creaked as footsteps stopped above the stairs. There was Mark Lee standing next to the wooden arches of the entrance. “Donghyuck—”

“Mark,” Taeil interrupted before he could continue, “go outside.”

Donghyuck clenched his jaw shut, eyes hazed and magic simmering off into a hum.

These were Taeil’s magic words. They were the salve to Donghyuck’s wounds. When Taeil was their instructor at the Templist and they were still eager, when envy had barely scratched the surface, he said this too many times. Taeil knew what to do. He always knew.

Mark stared at them from afar, eyes shining like the surface of the ocean, always soft and clear and never hard—Donghyuck always hated that. He stood still for a long second, staring at them until the blue of his eyes darkened, and he finally stepped off the stairs.

There was quiet as Taeil exhaled and ruffled through his pockets, then handed him his gloves—leather, but Johnny made sure they were thin as paper. But as Donghyuck snapped them around his wrists with slight shame on his face, he couldn't help but feel like they were handcuffs as heavy as paperweights.

“Was it bad?”

Taeil shook his head. “Some of them were just freaked out. They can sense it, your—” he stopped himself, and Donghyuck could tell he was picking his words, the best words for this, “your magic was overwhelming their own. The younger ones especially, it was their first time.”

But Donghyuck knew better. His magic in its rawest always made people sick. “Well, it’ll be their last time.”

Taeil gave a heavy sigh. “This isn’t the end of you, Donghyuck. You’re one of keenest witches on this side of the hill. This means nothing.”

It was easy for people like Taeil to say. But it wasn’t reality. His whole life felt like a competition. Always better. You are better. You have to be better. Twelve Godheads in your blood, House of Lee.

He pinned his eyes to the ground and said, “I can’t.”

If Donghyuck had been easier, if Donghyuck had been softer, maybe he could cry while saying these words, and then Donghyuck would have an excuse for being so brute. Then he wouldn’t look so stubborn. But Donghyuck wasn’t born soft nor was he meant to be easy.

There was a pause where Taeil said nothing. He just pursed his lips and stared at Donghyuck like he saw a wounded animal. Taeil’s stronghold collapsed and he gave a big sigh. He cupped Donghyuck’s hand, cradling it with gentleness.

“You carry too much,” he said softly. Taeil had to reach up to pat him on the head. A few years ago, Donghyuck was a head shorter and might have hissed at him like a rabid cat. “Look at you, Lee Donghyuck. All grown up, huh?”

Taeil’s hand was warm and Donghyuck tried not to preen. Of all the guardians he had, Donghyuck loved Taeil’s attention most—sometimes, he admits with buried guilt—even more than Johnny’s. “I’m not a child anymore,” he mumbled.

Taeil’s eyes were soft like melted toffee, a warm morning sunrise. “Indeed, you aren’t. You can make gods listen and the seeing kneel. You have more sense than half the witches here. But in my eyes, you will always be the little Seo whose hands could barely grip his dagger.”

When Taeil pulled him into a hug, Donghyuck grumbled but tucked his head into Taeil’s shoulder anyway. His fingers stroked the back of his hair, calming him like a begrudging animal. “There’s nothing to compare,” he said softly.

Donghyuck wished to believe. But nothing in his body would let him.

“Everything has a comparison,” Donghyuck whispered gruffly. “Everything has a better or worse,” he picked his head up, looking at Taeil, thinking _and I’m not the better option._

“Hyuck...” Taeil began saying.

Donghyuck felt drained, shaking his head at Taeil’s words. He was past the age of being consoled.

When Donghyuck stepped off the courtyard steps, Mark surprised him by waiting at the corner. He clenched his gloved hands at the sight of him and resisted the urge to scream. “What are you here for?” he grinded out.

Mark just stepped forward, holding something out. Donghyuck looked down and in Mark’s hands was his dagger, dark silver looking so foreign in the hands of someone else.

“Donghyuck...” Mark eyes widened in horror as lifted his hands to Donghyuck’s face.

“What are you doing?” came out of throat, fast and weak as he flinched back.

On the pristine floor, a spot of scarlet dripped decorated it. Then another. _Ah._ Donghyuck whipped a hand to his nose to see it come back stained in a deep red.

“You...” Mark grimaced and shoved the dagger into his hand. “Hurry and get to Jaehyun’s,” he muttered. Before leaving, he hesitated for a moment as if to say something, anguish on his face—Donghyuck wondered if that was his way of pity—then forgetting it as he made a swift exit.

Donghyuck stood there, then looked down at the dagger, his most favored weapon and the perfect weight for his palm. He still felt the remnants of Mark’s magic on it. Donghyuck felt a bit betrayed that _his_ dagger took so nicely to Mark’s magic powering it. But once it touched his palm, the dagger naturally stuck to Donghyuck’s magic like a pet welcoming him home.

The dagger was his mother’s and was engraved with deep swirls and glints in the sun with the green jewel at its center. They reminded him of his mother’s vivid emerald eyes every time, looking down on him as he carried it, so different from his muddy green eyes.

Mark had looked up at a portrait of his mother once and told Donghyuck that his eyes were just like his mother’s, like peering into an ocean—deep, dark, and endless. It was Mark affirming his fears, fears of his birthright, and a void had opened inside him. He would remember those words forever.

*

As Donghyuck walked on the skyway bridge, another group of teens dressed in familiar felt-wool grey coats and crystals hanging from their waists made their way across. They shuffled together in their Templist uniforms and must have noticed Donghyuck a distance. He was too recognizable as he often frequented parties and watched ritual performances with Renjun always at his side. 

At the first sight of him and his eight kaleidoscopic crystals hanging across his torso, the teens bumped their heads together and whisked from one edge of the bridge—in front of him—to the other edge like a panicked flock of birds. They all bowed, bobbing like pigeons, gawking all the while.

As soon as Donghyuck passed, the mouths opened.

_“That was Lee Donghyuck!”_

_“What?! The magic eater?”_

_“Amazing. You could tell from a mile away he belonged to a family on the hills.”_

_“He really looks nothing like his brother though.”_

_“No, but he is his father’s son. Look at that face. So mean. No wonder Yun Jihyuk thought Mark Lee was the little brother.”_

Donghyuck clenched his teeth and and quickened his pace, dagger heavy on his belt.

At the top of a building where the walls were pure white and it was always quiet, Donghyuck made his way to the room at the end of the corridor. Donghyuck peeked through the frosted window where Jaehyun stood at the edge of his desk, clutching at a letter with gritted teeth. Donghyuck knocked twice, calling out, “hyung,” through the door.

Jaehyun’s head popped up and pushed the sliding door open, stepping in front of the entrance before Donghyuck could get anywhere too far inside. He began to say something but was interrupted by the chirping of a letter in his mail basket. Jaehyun made an extremely aggravated face that delighted Donghyuck. It was not often that Jaehyun was bothered, but since the alchemist had become famed, trouble was all he had these days.

“You in trouble with the authorities, Doctor?” Donghyuck quipped good-natured. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just those seminar twats from downstairs,” he waved off.

“I don’t know why you insist on sharing your space with jealous academaries. Doyoung would gladly buy you a big building in a hole in a corner somewhere for you to do your shady business. Should you just ask.”

“It’s official business,” he corrected. But Donghyuck knew somewhere in between the bureaucracy was a man with too much gift and generosity to simply work _official business_. Jaehyun’s eyes swept down his drained face and stood upright. “Are you okay? What happened to the tonic I gave you?”

Donghyuck took out a thin chain from around his neck. Hanging from it was what looked like a pendant but was a vial, shaped like a diamond jewel. It had contained liquid but not anymore. Donghyuck shook the vial. “Empty.”

Jaehyun’s frown deepened. “Alr—” The fluttering of paper wings persisted. Jaehyun clicked his tongue and with a casual wave of his finger, the lid of his mail basket shut. No more letters chirping now. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.” And for good measure, “Stay here.”

Donghyuck crooked an eyebrow up at Jaehyun’s defensive behavior as he was hurrying down the hall. “Sure, hyung,” he said playfully to the retreating figure. 

Donghyuck knew without a doubt that those pesky alchemists from downstairs would stew it over whatever ego-filled spat they had with Jaehyun. They were jealous of Jaehyun’s natural born gift—jealous as all instructors from the Templist were, neither gifted enough nor lucky enough to be born a higher witch and hopelessly wanted a life of fame. No witch did alchemy like Jaehyun. Jaehyun made alchemy _his_ magic. Jaehyun was a man who could churn a couple of rose petals into an antidote for the strongest poison of heartbreak. There was no doubt he had several knives aimed at his back.

This gave Donghyuck plenty of time to snoop. He was no sooner than any other to slide the door open to Jaehyun’s private workspace. And well, folly to the witch who didn’t lock it.

“What are you hiding, Mr. Witch Doctor?” Donghyuck sung to the empty room.

The office was immaculate as usual when he stepped in, although suspiciously _too_ clean, reeking from cleansing magic. Sunlight beamed throughout the room. The usual white curtain was closed around the bed, briefly rippling from the wind. Donghyuck slid the door shut with his palms, the room becoming eerily silent and the overwhelming amount of cleansing magic was enough to make him choke.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was an intruder, but as Donghyuck stepped through the office, his eyes roamed the walls with caution as if they would rip open and start screaming at him. It was a change in a place Donghyuck usually deemed safe.

He stood over Jaehyun’s desk, fingertips hovering over the clutter, searching for that labeled purple liquid. The regular stack of papers and miscellaneous herbs and potions in small vials and bottles were freakishly organized on his desk and shelf. A white flower, sitting by the corner among the clutter, seemed to sway back and judge him. 

Donghyuck sneered, “What are you looking at, little poison?”

The white flower, dubbed the Devil’s Trumpet, seemed to like this and shook its leaves in a coy way. It screamed Doyoung in the worst possible way. Only Doyoung, a plant freak, would give an aphrodisiac that doubled as a poison to Jaehyun.

He scoffed, “Mind your own business,” and wagged his finger at it.

When he didn’t see his tonic in the pile, Donghyuck slid to the glass cabinet by the wall. Like an acclaimed prize, the familiar purple liquid sat in the bottom corner, innocently among all the other potions. So Donghyuck pulled on the tiny wooden knob of the cabinet, peeling open the heavy glass door and leaned down. He picked the vial up with a gentle touch.

Donghyuck looked down at the vial clinking against the heavy ring on his finger. The liquid jostled in its container and gleamed in the sunlight. There was a tingling again, something amiss, a hunch that slithered down his spine, a bordering painful spark flaring at the back of his neck, hissing at him to _look up._

So Donghyuck threw his head up.

There it was.

The white curtain behind him billowed in the reflection of the glass, and that was when Donghyuck saw him. Lying innocently on the bed was Ten. Ten who was supposed to be in Tokyo with his brother and with Taeyong. 

Donghyuck rose, straightening so fast that the thick glass door smacked against the wood frame with a dense thump. But the sound didn’t register in Donghyuck’s ears. He was turning around and with his own eyes, he watched the curtain flutter to reveal Ten behind the white sheet, lying on the bed like death.

He was not sleeping. No, this was not sleep.

The leather stretched across thinly where Donghyuck’s knuckles clenched against the wooden frame. He couldn’t feel another person in this room aside from him. Ten’s face was unmarred, all pale skin and glossy lids. But there was nothing coming from him. Donghyuck gasped as if there was a hole had been punched through his chest. He gasped until his lungs filled with all the cleansing magic staining the walls and the floor. _It was too clean._ There wasn’t any living magic in the room except his own.

Donghyuck approached the bed with slow steps. The closer he got, the more the air surrounding Ten seemed to ripple, like there was a protective barrier already keeping him out—or keeping things in. Footsteps echoed outside the corridor. Donghyuck whipped his head to the entrance. Jaehyun was coming back.

The door slid open with several creaks and Jaehyun jumped at the sight of Donghyuck in his office. “What are you doing in here?” he asked, short of yelling.

But what he saw was Donghyuck hovering over Jaehyun’s desk, back facing the white bed curtains.

Where was Ten’s magic?

Donghyuck simply smiled at Jaehyun. “I got tired of waiting.”

Who took Ten’s magic?

Jaehyun sighed with all his body and took a large step towards him, grasping at him at the wrists like how one would exasperatedly pull their misbehaving child out of public places. He led Donghyuck to the door, placing himself between Donghyuck and the rest of the room, but not before snatching the vial out of his hands.

“This is serious magic, Donghyuck. You can’t take these without...” Jaehyun then stopped himself and frowned.

Donghyuck clicked his tongue, thrusting a foot out to tap on the floor. “What?”

Jaehyun pressed the pads of his fingers against Donghyuck’s wrist, bringing it down in front of him, and unfurled Donghyuck’s hand. Running his index finger along Donghyuck’s pulse, he lifted the leather glove with the length of his finger and pushed into Donghyuck’s palm with a set of knit brows. 

“You’re worse than usual,” he commented. “How much time did you spend revising your rituals?”

Donghyuck tried hard not to burst. He could only think of his loss. He had lost and there was not one person standing by his side, not one letter sent this morning, not one person for him in the crowd of spectators, and not one word for weeks. Missing, he thought, and Jaehyun made himself a barrier between Donghyuck and the truth.

With gritted teeth, he asked, “Did you forget what today was?”

“Oh,” Jaehyun realized. “Did you...”

“What do you think?” Donghyuck replied with his jaw clenched so much it had hurt.

Jaehyun’s mouth screwed over when Donghyuck replied with so much spite. Donghyuck knew that Jaehyun had a soft spot for Mark just like his brother. Mark Lee was everyone’s golden child. Jaehyun’s lips held back the unnecessary comments he wanted to make. He seemed unsure of what to say. It’s not like there were going to be anymore _next time, you’ll do better_.

“Just be careful. Johnny wouldn’t want to come back to you in a hospital bed.”

Donghyuck’s eyes raised at the name drop. “When is he coming back?”

Jaehyun hesitated, just for a second, his eyes trailed to the right to the bed, and it was a second enough. He said very clipped, “Soon.” And without allowing banter, Jaehyun pushed the vial into Donghyuck’s hand and out of his doorway, “Get going now. I don’t want you straining yourself, doctor’s orders, or I will get Doyoung to raise hell with the Church to stop you from working,” then shut the door with a click.

It seems you’re marrying into the right breed of witch after all, Doyoung. Donghyuck spun the vial in his hand as he watched Jaehyun get out a pen and paper through the window. Who knew the very honest Jung Jaehyun could lie without blinking an eye. He didn’t even give Donghyuck a chance to interrogate him. Cousin Irene would grin and say, _“How calculated,”_ if she were here.

Donghyuck walked down the empty corridor, thinking all the way down, _Where is Johnny?_

*

Donghyuck’s first task when he got back to the Seo Estate was heading right into his brother’s room. It was located in the third hallway to the west, on the far end across from Donghyuck’s room. 

But it wasn’t always there. When he was little, Donghyuck used to beg to sleep with his brother, to the extent that their parents just moved Johnny down the hall. Donghyuck would run his little feet down the hallway, slapping against the floors like a bull, racing from his room down to his brother’s.

Donghyuck had not entered the other side of the hallway in years. There were areas in his own house that seemed to be a stranger's lands, war lands, that took great hesitance and bravery to walk through. Every step Donghyuck took was a march, and with every step, what he was doing became less invasive and more brash. But Donghyuck threw the door open anyway. 

His brother’s rich velvet curtains were still the same but his aligning study was not. It had grown from a neat stack of work to a small hazardous library against the far wall: books and papers sticking out from the shelves, notes stuck onto the wall, and drawers of letters spilling out.

In the time Donghyuck ravaged through the notes hidden between thick books, thin books, and shuffled through the council contracts, angry paperwork, and piles of love letters— _good god, why did his brother keep so many of his love letters in the drawer with his letters of angry beratings towards other godheads_ —Donghyuck had found nothing except a slightly cleaner mess and a headache.

“What are you doing?”

Donghyuck swiveled around to see Mark hovering outside his brother’s door. “What are you doing here?” he spat back. If Johnny was not here, there was no reason for Mark to enter the third hallway to the west.

_(“Don’t come near me. Don’t even pretend to look at me while you’re on my property,” Donghyuck hissed at him._

_Mark was soaked in glory and was taking everything, everything that Donghyuck had cherished and cherished him back. Now even his house._

_Mark looked back at Donghyuck with sad eyes.)_

Mark’s eyes fell over the desk, ajar drawers and open books. “I seemed to ask you first.” His arms folded and his expression managed to be smug yet cross at the same time. “What are you doing?”

Donghyuck went back to shuffling papers. “Nothing that concerns you.”

The note in his hand was snatched away. “I think it does concern me if you’re reading my brother’s love letters,” Mark said from the side.

For a second, Donghyuck’s mind raged before he realized which brother Mark was talking about.

“You’re searching for where your brother went?” Mark asked but it seemed more like a statement.

“How do you know?” Donghyuck replied, chilled.

Mark put the letter back onto the desk. “Because I’m searching for mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **will eat ass for a comment**
> 
> srsly, thanks for reading!! i love witches and imagining gothy and sparkly aesthetic so it's gonna be a wild ride, about 40k-ish in length,, tell me what you think!!
> 
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	2. birds cannot speak, only squawk

Mark told Donghyuck to follow him to his room. Dragging his heels, Donghyuck shadowed Mark, a few steps behind, to the second hallway to the west. No Man’s Land. The room was big but Mark had a way to make it seem small and... homey. Pictures and paintings (many of Taeyong and Johnny, some with Jaemin and Jeno) hung above knick-knacks and books spilling off the same shelf. Plants that grew too big scaled the walls, some stems looking like they were cut too short— _how unsightly!—_ and crystals and accessories he recognized as Johnny’s gifts hung on his vanity.

On the desk were a set of letters laid out by Mark. Donghyuck scanned them and noticed the lack of an address. If there weren’t addresses, letters couldn’t fly.

“Why don’t they have an address? How do they fly?” he asked.

“It’s old magic.” Mark picked up a letter, still folded in the shape of a bird. “Taeyong taught me when we were little because he thought we would be separated for a long time. After he came over this side of the hill. It’s also the one magic my mother is particularly great at.”

He stretched his palm out and they both watched as the letter shook its wings and took flight, chirped once, around the room before landing back into Mark’s palm. “Blood magic. The letters fly to people who share your blood.”

“That’s... impressive. I thought they stopped teaching blood magic after the war. Hm,” Donghyuck praised with slight annoyance. “What does it say?”

Mark gave him a frightful look before unfolding and holding the letter before him.

_TEN IS HURT. BIRDS ARE ALWAYS WATCHING. PLEASE TAKE CARE OF HIM._

Donghyuck frowned, “This is my brother’s handwriting.” He reached out for the letter, only to have Mark whip the letter away from his grasp. Donghyuck closed his fist over air, while grinding his teeth. 

One detail about letters flown on blood magic: they would incinerate if anyone else touched them. 

So he continued, “Why is my brother sending you letters? Through Taeyong no less?” _Why has he not sent me one letter? Not one in over four weeks._

“I don’t know,” Mark said and had the sense to look guilty. “This letter is from a week ago. I haven’t received anything else since.”

Donghyuck observed Mark and his downturned eyes, guilt but also confusion marked all over. “So you don’t know where Ten is?”

Mark shook his head.

Even Mark didn’t know. It wasn’t often that Mark as well was left in the dark. Taeyong liked to overshare.

“He’s at Jaehyun’s work. I saw him this morning.” he blurted. “He... he did not seem himself. In fact, he didn’t seem to have a drop of magic on him. Though that might have been because of the cleansing magic. I think Jaehyun has been trying to heal him and for a long while now.”

Mark grew more confused as Donghyuck spoke and slouched into his chair. “I didn’t know. I was confused when Johnny was telling me—I thought—” Mark clammed up, all of a sudden, facing him with a sternness and asked very seriously, “Why does he say _birds are always watching?”_

Donghyuck was suddenly very aware of the reality that he was in Mark’s room for the first time, alone, and completely out of place, feeling like he had a target on his back as Mark looked at him for an answer. He thought of this morning and how Kun’s raven shined against his chest.

Just as Mark did earlier, Donghyuck replied, “I don’t know,” and had the sense to look guilty. Mark never liked the birds or how they acted around Taeyong. They were always condescending, even when Taeyong joined the House of Seo. So, just this once, he’s going to keep this to himself.

Mark kept his stare on him for a second too long, _knowing_ even if Donghyuck didn’t speak. He stood up from the chair. “Well then, I think we ought to find out.”

Donghyuck led Mark to Jaehyun’s little hideout on the highest floor in the room at the end. It looked innocent and clean, just as before.

“He’s not here.” Donghyuck gaped as soon as he opened the curtains. “Where did he go?”

Mark sat on the bed, fingers trailing up the sheets. “There’s no trace of magic. Which is weird. Sick people always leave stains. Are you sure Ten was here?”

“Yes,” Donghyuck balked. “I wouldn’t just make this shit up. And he wasn’t sick. He was...” Donghyuck was at a loss for words because he wasn’t quite sure what Ten was, “...indisposed.”

Mark gave him a blunt look that said _so you mean, sick._ “Well, Jaehyun must have taken him away. He definitely wouldn’t be left here if he thought you noticed. There’s too many eyes and ears, and if he didn’t want Ten to be found...”

“Where does Jaehyun live?” Donghyuck turned to Mark.

Mark seemed taken aback from the question. “Uhm, a little west of the Hills in the uptown villa, where the nouveau riche are.”

A wreath of marigolds and red azaleas hung from the door baffled the both of them. It was a neon sign to witches but felt right in place among the quiet community of the unseeing. 

Jaehyun was descendant from a father, whose family was neither high nor low, and a mother that was unseeing, but whose beauty was so dazzling, some said it was magic itself. And well, when Jaehyun’s mother came to the door, it seemed what people said were true. 

Donghyuck always thought Jaehyun would resemble his father as most boys did, as Donghyuck did. But seeing how Jaehyun’s mother looked kindly at them, the sprinkle of charm as she smiled, it was clear who Jaehyun took after. Donghyuck was envious of Jaehyun for having that. Donghyuck had always been told, repeatedly without fail, that he took after his father.

“Hello, is Jaehyun home?”

His mother tilted her head and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, sweethearts. Jaehyun isn’t staying with us.”

At the very first note of her sweet tone, Donghyuck tried to resist the rising annoyance. His stomach stirred with a painful jealousy. “Well then, where does he stay?” he asked, trying not to snark.

Mark looked at him from the corner of his eye with concern, taken aback by his hostility.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” she said.

Mark blinked. “You’re not sure where your son lives?”

Jaehyun’s mother was bashful as she responded. “Well, I’m human and _unseeing_ as you would like to call it. Jaehyun told me something too confusing for me to understand. He said he would be somewhere down a river, near a clearing, between a rock and under the sun. And I wouldn’t understand where that is.”

Donghyuck and Mark shared a look. _That sounds like Ten’s house._

Hearing the silence, Jaehyun’s mother grew apologetic. “I’m sorry, dearies.”

Mark bowed, slapping Donghyuck in the middle of his back so he followed. “It’s okay, m’am. We’re all human, one just has more sense than the other is all. Thank you for your help.”

Jaehyun’s mother smiled again, the dip under eyes became pronounced replicating her son’s. “Well, it’s getting quite dark. You two look quite young. Better get on home.”

Donghyuck avoided looking too much at her smile as she said this, sickly sweet and kind, and kept his silence.

“Yes, ma'am,” Mark chirped as they turned.

“Oh, and be careful of the birds,” she said.

The two witches suddenly whipped back in unison. “What?” said both of them at once.

The woman raised her eyebrows in question, one hand to her breast as if they startled her. “I meant nothing by it. Just that there seems to be more crows around than usual. You know, the black birds? I assume they are crows. There’s been some creepily staring these few weeks. Isn’t it a sign of bad luck?”

Donghyuck thought Jaehyun’s mother was quite seeing and full of sense after all. One must be keen and fast, with their eyes peeled up never blinking to see a bird. One does not simply become a bird for any reason, of course.

“Not always,” he said hesitantly.

“Well, who am I to say what any of it means then.” Jaehyun’s mother dismissed. Then she lit up with an _ah!_ and held a hand up, telling them to wait. Donghyuck shot Mark a concerned look before she returned with candy in her hands. It was yeot taffy—candy for good luck.

“You look like you might need it,” she said to Donghyuck as they dropped into his thin leather gloves. “Your face is a little black.”

Donghyuck bit his lip and tried not to scowl. He was better than that. Jaehyun wouldn’t have appreciated it at all. With his sweetest voice, he tried convincing her as much as he wished someone could convince him, “Really, the crows may not signify bad luck.”

“Oh no,” she shook her head, “I just felt you were having a bad day.”

“How is that?”

“Well,” she looked quite endeared with him, “mother’s intuition is all one needs.”

Donghyuck closed his fist on the candies. “Right. Have a good night.”

Mark walked a little behind Donghyuck as they made their way back to the estate. The streets were a bit empty, save for a couple of people still hanging around and the city workers helping to put up decorations for the upcoming festival. Red and whites and yellows hung from each establishment they crossed and it was far too festive for Donghyuck’s mood. 

He could see several houses lit up in the distance, the faint music travelling down to them signifying how witches have started their celebration nights early, counting down the days to the festival. 

A little ways from the forkroad leading up the Hills, suddenly, Donghyuck stopped and faced Mark. He put out his fist turned down.

Mark held out an open hand with curiosity and his eyes softened at the edges as he realized Donghyuck had dropped the candy Jaehyun’s mother gave him into his palm. “Donghyuck...” he began as looked up but Donghyuck had already walked ahead. Mark ran to catch up, saying, “You know she didn’t mean it. How was she to know your mother is gone?”

Gone, he said. It was so _Mark_ to dance around the subject. Donghyuck doesn’t want nice, he doesn’t want dancing on eggshells, he was tired of everyone tiptoeing around him and whispering behind his back.

“Dead,” corrected Donghyuck matter-of-factly. “Murdered.”

Mark winced although Donghyuck could tell he tried not to, he couldn’t. “She didn’t know,” Mark said softly, head angled aside like he was ashamed.

Donghyuck scowled, “She said my face was black. She’s unseeing and she could still tell.” 

_See?_ he wanted to say. Just like all the other witches, even the unseeing could tell Donghyuck was _without_. It was on his face, in his blood, in every single way—how could she not have known when Donghyuck had to carry her dagger and her history, _house of lee, house of lee,_ and her blood in him, in the ends of his pajama bottoms, staining it so red, _so red,_ and how could anyone look at him and just not _know?_

Mark stood staring at Donghyuck's face with strange misty eyes. He never looked at Donghyuck the way other people did.

“Hey, Donghyuck!” next to him, Mingi yelled and all of the rest of his friends stopped.

One of the group of witches heading to the celebrations caught their attention while Donghyuck and Mark were passing by. Donghyuck rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what would happen again.

Mingi was one of the few witches that was not afraid or in awe of him. In fact, his family was a cousin under the House of Jeon, the manor next to his, and so, Mingi got it in his little head somewhere that he could be _friendly_ with Donghyuck. That might have something to do with how Mingi liked to get handsy with him at parties. One small ten-minute triast with him and suddenly the boy thought Donghyuck was his to be called anywhere he went.

“We’re going to a party at Jungwoo’s. See you there later?” Mingi asked but was very eager as he stepped towards him with brave strides.

Donghyuck wrapped his coat tighter onto his shoulders and gave Mingi a tight-lipped smile. “No, You won’t.”

“Oh, come on,” Mingi whined, “you should come. Where’s your friend today? Make sure to bring Renjunnie!”

Donghyuck’s lips curled up hearing Mingi put Renjun’s name in his sickly tone.

“We can have some fun,” insinuated Mingi. “You quite liked it last time,” he said, head turning to his friends in laughter. The others weren't as eager.

“I think we’re remembering things differently. I don’t let dogs slobber over me twice,” said Donghyuck icily. And he wasn’t technically wrong, Mingi and his whole family were dogs. They didn’t handle birds very delicately. Mingi was what he called pretty but had too much air in his head.

There was coughing behind him, an arm wrapping on his bicep. “Sorry, but we have to be getting home.”

“Mark!” said Mingi with surprise. He backed up, eyes curling, “didn’t see you there,” he said even though Mark was clearly behind him, in everyone’s view. But Mingi tended to only want to see what he wanted to see. His eyes darted to their close stance and breathed out his nose, chuckling in disbelief. “I’d never believe to see the day. You’re really going with him of all people, Hyuck?”

Someone mumbled, “I mean it’s Mark Lee,” and that made Mingi, who put himself on top of everyone, scoff loudly. There was some nervous laughter from the group. “So even the heir of Lee would roll in bed with someone from the hillbed,” he hollered in a great guffaw to no one in particular.

 _Hillbed_ was a phrase that insinuated that the witch was poor or ill-bred, specifically for gold-digging lower witches who married their way up. It made Mark silently sigh from his side, jaw subtly clenching, but Donghyuck resolved to stay till the guy’s mouth had blown off.

Even though Mark stepped forward with a pacifying smile, trying to turn them away, _pacifist,_ Donghyuck didn’t let Mark budge him. Something in Mingi’s self-absorbed smile made his hands unravel, knuckles stretch in his gloves. He wanted to see it crumble.

One witch who was known to be kinder, more lenient in their batch, known for his white streaked hair along his neck pulled Mingi back. “Mingi,” San yelped, “now is not the time for your smart mouth to act up.”

“But I shouldn’t be all that surprised. You’ve always been that type of witch,” Mingi smirked.

Mingi was so joyfully laughing, Donghyuck wondered what it would sound like if he choked. So, he unsheathed his dagger, whipping it at Mingi. “I won’t hesitate to cut you down where you stand,” Donghyuck grinned, flicking the tip up at his throat.

Laughter became silence and everyone held still, muscles tensed and observing each other like soldiers on empty ground, surveying the enemy before the first attack.

“Hey...” Mingi raised his hands, inching his head back, “you wouldn’t want to do that...” His eyes darted to both of his sides as a gesture where people stood shuffling back a bit, watching with wide eyes.

Donghyuck rose an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I? I could spill your blood right here, magic dead, and no one up the hill would bat an eye. You know who I am. What lingers behind my back. I’m sure if I told the neighbors that their dog was just barking too loudly, they wouldn’t mind letting a pet go.”

Mingi’s breath hitched but he was still as a tree. “Jeon wouldn’t let you do that...”

A friend shot at him, “Dude, he’s already given you a warning. Let it go.”

“Donghyuck...” Mark kept his hand against his back, almost like a reminder of where he was, who he was with. 

San’s eyes hovered at the sharp tip of the blade. “We didn’t mean to bother you, Donghyuck. He’s sorry. Right, Mingi?”

Mingi gulped, and it gave Donghyuck great joy watching Mingi’s pulse against his neck bob nervously. “Fine. I’m sorry.”

Donghyuck lowered his hand and put his dagger back in its place. “Dogs should learn to keep their tongues in their mouths. Try not to slobber all over the place, Mingi,” he instructed with a smile, wide and blooming.

San elbowed Mingi who learned to keep his mouth shut and eyes down. They all shuffled off, coats bundled more tightly around themselves than before, up the hills.

Donghyuck swiveled his attention to Mark. “You shouldn’t have said anything. I handled it.”

“He was harassing you,” Mark argued.

“I get that all the time. What haven’t he said that I haven’t heard before,” Donghyuck said, brushing it off.

“This is why you shouldn’t be going to all those parties and listen to Johnny instead.”

Donghyuck reeled back. “Excuse you? What does my party habits have anything to do with this? You’re not a stranger to them either.”

Mark made a frustrated noise from the back of his throat. “Johnny always tells you not to act like that. You haven’t forgotten all the trouble you got during our lessons, right? If you didn’t go around talking back and proving to their point all the time—”

“Their point? What is their point?” Donghyuck crossed his arms, feeling annoyance prick at his temples. “Tell me, huh, Mark Lee.”

“This!” Mark waved his arms out at him. “You’re arrogant and you have a knife for a tongue. You raise your dagger at any seeming threat when it’s not. If you had been a bit kinder, people wouldn’t believe everything they hear and treat you like that.”

“I don’t pay kindness to people who have done nothing to deserve it,” Donghyuck hissed. “You should know your fair share.”

A majority of the fights Donghyuck had during his lessons at the Templist was with Mark. Mark who always challenged him, carrying that blazing stare and squared ritual stance, who thought he had outgrown it, but he’s just like Donghyuck—he hasn’t let it go either.

Still glaring, Donghyuck released a sigh, unraveling the vial from his necklace to throw it back in his mouth. His legs were quickly heading down the other way of the forkroad, leaving Mark wherever behind him. 

“Donghyuck!” he called. “Where are you going? Home is the opposite direction,” he pointed forwards.

Donghyuck turned to him, completely despondent. “I’m not going back. There is no one at home.”

“I’m—” Mark began to say but his face deflated and Donghyuck just knew.

 _“What?”_ he sneered, “Were you going to say that _you’re_ at home?” He scoffed, big and mocking. “Don’t think for a second, we’ve even became friends.” He still hadn’t shook off the tight grasp of Mark from his bicep. The crumbs of his magic lingered on his coat where his hands were. “It hasn’t been my home for a long time. It may be home for you and Taeyong, but not for me.”

The Seo Estate where Donghyuck was born and raised seemed to be taken over, encroached by intruders. Mark had taken the only space he still had with his brother and pervaded it with his presence.

Mark’s fists clenched. “Then where are you going to sleep?”

“At Renjun’s.”

Mark’s chest puffed up but his lips kept pressing thin, keeping his _nice words_ inside, feet scuffing the dirt, hands clenching and unclenching, taking so long that Donghyuck just started walking away. 

But Mark snatched him by the wrist, tugging him back slightly closer. “How much longer are you going to keep running away?” It sounded desperate.

Donghyuck kept his gasp inside him. Mark’s stupid hand, his soft grip on his wrist, holding him by that sliver of skin exposed just above his gloves. Donghyuck hated when Mark touched him. It brought him back to the dueling platform again, losing, out of control. Then the indignation rose, inflating and waiting to pop out of his chest. _How dare he_ when Mark never knew anything—he didn’t have people avoiding him like a contagion, he didn’t know anything of abandonment, of bad luck. Everyone was on his side, always.

“For as long as I can,” he sneered and jerked out of his grasp.

When Donghyuck arrived at Renjun’s, the other witch dragged him inside the maze of his library. Tonight especially, he acted a bit clandestine, bringing Donghyuck into his house with a certain quietness. 

Donghyuck had not seen Renjun outside much these weeks. The other witch was busy fighting with his family and the Chinese Constitute, going back and forth from this side of the hill to the other. He was also another witch with work, quickly gaining traction for investigating curses.

They stared out the wide windows of the library. The waxing moon would soon become full. On nights like these, Donghyuck could feel his magic vibrating, almost to the extent it sometimes made his hands tremble. Renjun could tell the darkness was stirring inside him again. Amongst witches, Renjun was the keenest when it came to people, and also when it came to Donghyuck. There was an understanding between them, a shared loneliness and need for quiet in their misery.

Renjun slid his palm into his gloveless ones. Of course, Renjun could look at him and just _tell_ but Donghyuck enjoyed the contact.

“Is it bad?” he asked as he examined Donghyuck’s hand in his. 

Donghyuck felt the small center of calmness growing, flowing from Renjun’s fingers to his. “You tell me,” he joked.

Renjun cracked a small smile but then sat next to him with a serious face. “You’re worried. Is it about your brother again?”

The perks of having a friend like Renjun. There were so many things that Donghyuck could’ve said, but Renjun had heard almost everything before so from the top of his head, he blurted, “Birds.”

“Birds?”

“Yes. The ones you are familiar with.” 

Donghyuck looked out the window at the same time Renjun did, and into the darkness, into the small garden Renjun kept fully nurtured by the side of his house. They both searched the dark for the shape of birds perched on branches of trees they had no business perching on. 

“Are they bothering you?” asked Renjun.

There was nothing but moonlight shining for miles. “I don’t know. Why would they?”

Then, Renjun asked something peculiar. “Are they my birds or yours?”

With a faraway voice, he heard himself ask, “What does that mean?”

“Are they here for me or for you?” Renjun faced him with the light brown of his eyes so clear, like the center of a topaz gem, almost to the point of graying. “Our Houses aren’t that different, are they?” he stated with that electric gaze.

Donghyuck knew the House of Huang had just as many demons as the House of Lee did. Demons that made them send not-cousins to watch over the heirs of their empires. Donghyuck thought of his uncle’s hands squeezing his shoulders and the blood that was still staining the cracks of their marble tiles when Uncle pinned the nightingale brooch into his skin.

So whose birds were they?

A loud scratching against metal interrupted them, and the curtains dragged over the windows. The two witches turned to see Sicheng standing on top of the staircase.

Sicheng, the not-cousin. During intervals of visiting Renjun, Donghyuck had been given glimpses of him. He was not a stranger to Donghyuck, but also never became a friend. In his three year absence, Sicheng turned into someone Donghyuck couldn’t recognize.

“No visitors,” he said, with eyes staring straight at Donghyuck.

Renjun jumped down to stand while Donghyuck pushed his back against the window frame. He was not intimidated by many people, hardly anyone at all, but with the Sicheng that stood in front of him, a quiver of intimidation did shake him.

This Sicheng stood tall, clad in a black suit and rich red characters woven into his sleeves. He had always worn his crystals as every witch did. But this wasn’t how Sicheng used to wear them—four crane-headed brooches, every gem a different hue of amber, pinned to the front of his lapels—no, Sicheng wore his crystals like how Donghyuck wore his, with his shoulders squared like they were decorations of a war hero.

Whereas the young Sicheng was distant, this Sicheng was confrontational. He still had a wispy likeness to him but resembled a thin tree that would sway but never fall.

Renjun inhaled a big breath and said bravely, “This is my house.”

“I said _no visitors,_ ” he repeated. “Tell your friend to go home.” Sicheng’s eyes reminded him of Cousin Irene’s, looking down at him with a slight agreeableness and nothing more.

Renjun held his hand tighter. “He sleeps here. He needs to be here. Gē,” he faced Sicheng, pleading saturated in his tone.

 _“Renjun,”_ Sicheng scolded again. He came down the stairs, a grey gem swaying, back and forth, from his left ear as he went. He switched to Chinese, raining his words down endlessly, sharp and berating.

Renjun’s face began to sour, flushing upwards like a small balloon, before he finally had enough and barked something back harshly.

Sicheng became suddenly quiet.

“You tell him then,” said Renjun, soft but unyielding. “Tell him why he must go back to an empty home. Better yet, tell him why the birds are here.”

“Don’t be foolish, Renjun. I cannot undo a treaty of the years even if it were for you.”

Renjun then squared his voice with a tone Donghyuck had never heard before, a tone he would never usually use towards a grown witch. “If you wish to keep being my cousin, you will tell him.” It made Donghyuck stare in awe for a second.

“You dare say that to me,” Sicheng hissed. “I am the reason you can still step on this side of the hill and I can also make sure you will _never_ step on this side of the hill again!”

Donghyuck stepped slightly in front of Renjun, blocking his figure from Sicheng’s view. “Tell me what?” he challenged. “Surely, there isn’t anything I can’t know that Renjun hasn’t confessed. We’ve always been close, our Houses have always been close, haven’t they?”

Sicheng shot Renjun a scolding look before saying, “Precisely for that reason.”

“Why are the birds watching me?” Donghyuck asked this time, louder, to get his attention back.

Sicheng finally looked down at him. Those blank eyes reminded him of Kun’s terribly calm face this morning.

“I cannot give you the answers you seek. As you said, the birds are always watching. I am not the next Godhead, I am not like your brother, and I cannot protect mines like he does. I am just a mouthpiece. My bird does not speak, it can only squawk.”

Even though Donghyuck had grown to nearly the same height as him, Sicheng lowered his head to look him in the eyes like he would do to a child. “People like us are tied to our institutions. Do you understand?” He tilted his head back, just by an inch, stretching his neck like the crane-heads glittering on Sicheng’s clothes. It was subtle but Donghyuck could see the clear lining sewed up his throat.

There was a common tactic during the war made by their institutions, a nasty one, to tie the vocal chords of any witch, should they be captured, to prevent them from telling the truth. It had been outlawed long ago. But it didn’t surprise him, witches of their kind knew how to weave loopholes into the most binding laws.

“Your bird can only squawk,” Donghyuck echoed, understanding.

“Many of us birds. We do not all have protection like your brother,” Sicheng said grimly.

Almost automatic, Donghyuck replied, “My brother isn’t here.” It felt like he has not been here for a long time.

Sicheng pressed his lips together. He did not touch Donghyuck but put persuasion into his words as if they were his magic—persuade them to grow hands and pat him reassuringly. “You are a keen witch, Donghyuck. Listen to your demons. There are things you must see, even if you don’t wish to. It will guide you when you must make a decision.”

Then, Sicheng rose and turned to Renjun. “Send him home before you make a mess.”

Renjun apologized and saw him to the entrance, saying that Sicheng will be gone not long now, and he could return to being the two of them. But Donghyuck felt sorry for him. They could not help where they were born into after all.

Before Renjun sent him away, he tried to console Donghyuck to sleep peacefully. He told him not to fear the birds watching. Everything would work out in time, he said rather sweetly. And for the demons that lurked outside Donghyuck’s bedroom doors at night, “there is not enough magic in the world that could create monsters.” Monsters and demons were all created by the human mind.

But this did not console Donghyuck at all. Renjun was right. After all, birds were not birds, they were human. And if magic could make humans into birds, humans could also become monsters if they so wished.

That night, when everything was quiet, shuffling could be heard through the halls of the Seo Manor. Donghyuck’s bare feet slapped across the floor as he roamed the halls in darkness. Those feet took the steps it did when he was younger since he did not do this kind of thing for quite a while. It was quite loud to the point that someone might just come out to check who was walking around this late at night.

As if being chased, Donghyuck’s head swiveled from behind him to in front of him. He could see the ghostly figure of someone ahead and the drops of red on the floor. 

“Donghyuck, go back to bed,” her sweet voice rung out. 

She urged him away and looked so tall. Donghyuck had to crane his neck to look up at her. Even in the dead of night, her emerald eyes lit up like candles. Her eyes wrinkled and her lips curled slightly up in an ever patient smile.

 _But why?_ he wanted to ask. She grew farther and farther away from him. _Where are you going?_

Two hands reached for him, shaking him by the shoulders. “Donghyuck, wake up,” said the voice, hushed despite there not being a need for it.

“Huh?” Donghyuck awoke with groggy blinking, still standing on his two feet.

Mark frowned, lighting the hallway dimly with a wave of his hand. “You’re sleepwalking again. Go back to your room. Your mother’s portrait will still be here in the morning.”

Donghyuck smacked his lips. His mouth felt awfully dry as did his eyes. Mark led him away from the ancestry room by pulling on his elbow. The boy’s feet dragged all the way, still half into sleep as he was gently urged up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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